


Exactly What You Deserve

by finefeatheredfriend



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Dialogue Heavy, First Kisses, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, M/M, Mention of period-typical homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:22:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22538488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finefeatheredfriend/pseuds/finefeatheredfriend
Summary: You know how you feel about Arthur. What you aren't sure of is how he feels about you. After a kiss gone wrong, you wonder just what he thinks of you.[You were just a gang member, recently joined and he was…well...he was just your type...You just weren’t sure you were his.]
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Male!Reader, Arthur Morgan/Reader, Arthur Morgan/You
Comments: 3
Kudos: 93





	Exactly What You Deserve

**Author's Note:**

> I may or may not continue this as a series, depending on reception.

“It _ain’t_ funny!” Arthur insisted, swearing when his glove caught in his hair again when he tried to swipe it back out of his face.

“It’s kinda funny,” you told him, eyes glittering with mirth.

“It. Ain’t.” His voice was full of venom and you had to fight back another cackle at his expense.

“Alright, big fella. I’ll tell you what, since it’s my fault your horse spooked and knocked you into that pine tree, your drinks today are on me, whaddaya say?” Arthur gave you a dirty look and you pursed your lips, forcing yourself not to laugh, knowing that laughing would probably earn you a broken nose or a fat lip when he was being this temperamental.

Arthur Morgan stood before you, all two hundred some odd pounds of him, furious and covered with pine needles, sap and dirt. His signature hat had barely escaped the chaos, flying off his head before he had smacked into the tree. You had dusted it off for him and handed it back, only to have him reach for it with such irritation that his gloved fingers had brushed yours. You’d forced yourself to stay calm, to ignore the ticklish fluttering in your chest every time he looked at you with those blue eyes, clenching that square jaw. You were just a gang member, recently joined and he was…well, sap aside, he was just your type.

You just weren’t sure you were his.

A month or so ago, drunk, singing off-key, cheeks flushed with drink and happiness from a big score, Arthur had staggered past you in camp, surveyed you for a minute and then balled his fingers in the front of your shirt, yanking you forward with a threatening motion, pulling your face right into his. You had thought for sure he had decided he didn’t like you and was about to start a fist fight with you, something entirely within his character, but instead he had pressed his lips to yours, giving a little moan of either pleasure or consternation before shoving you back, glaring at you for a moment, and then stumbling off to the other side of the camp to spend the rest of the evening with Hosea and Sean, ignoring you completely.

You didn’t know if Arthur remembered doing that, and he had never brought it up, though he continued riding with you on various tasks and missions, and he chatted with you easily both in and out of camp.

This morning you had been instructed to ride into town to pick up supplies. On your way, you had been spooked by a coyote you had mistaken for a wolf. You had fired a shot at it without warning, making your horse shy into Arthur’s. Arthur’s horse threw him, and now he was filthy, irritated and in bad need of both a drink and a washing. You’d helped him back onto his horse and ridden into town, amused all the while at his sap-matted hair, his filthy clothing and the line of dirt smeared up the side of that austere nose of his. The two of you stepped into the mostly empty saloon, greeted dully by a bored bartender who was polishing the glass in his hand for at least the eleventh time. It was sparkling, but it didn’t seem to matter, he just polished and polished and polished, eyes locked on the bar top in a fair rendition of a man who has achieved actual nirvana and has nothing on his mind, not even the task at hand.

“Uhm, can we get a drink this early in the morning, mister?” you asked, hesitant to break the barkeep’s Sisyphean repertoire of polishing and staring blankly ahead.

“What? Oh, sure! What’ll it be?” he asked, actually looking happy to have something to do now that he was shaken from his blank state.

“Two whiskeys, quick,” Arthur muttered, “and whatever he’s drinking.” You laughed and held up two fingers. The barkeep poured four shots and you took your two in quick succession with Arthur, who sighed and continued picking at his hair.

“You know you oughta just take a bath. I’m sure the washin’ girls can get all that out,” you suggested.

“Well, more likely they’ll tell me to cut it off,” Arthur griped. “I’ve half a mind to.”

“No!” you blurted. “Er, no. You shouldn’t. Looks nice at this length,” you told him, hoping that wasn’t too strong a compliment, “Besides, looks like you’d have to shave yourself bald to get rid of all the parts with sap and twigs.”

“Eh,” he said, a sound of simultaneous self-derision, acceptance of your statement, and changing the subject in one. You sat in quiet contemplation, ordering another round of whiskey that you sipped on this time, though Arthur knocked his back and you ordered him another. At this rate of drinking, you thought, looking into your quickly emptying coin purse, you’d be out of money in about another thirty minutes. “So,” he finally said, maybe fifteen minutes later, “How you likin’ the gang?” That was a loaded question if you’d ever heard one, so you were glad you were at least halfway behind Arthur in drinking at this point. His words had a soft slur to them and one of his eyes was held just slightly more closed than the other. You knew he was not a cheap drunk, had seen him knock back entire bottles of liquor like they were beer, but you also knew he hadn’t eaten breakfast, and he’d been throwing the whiskeys back quick.

“I like it. Hosea, especially. He’s very fatherly.” Arthur chuckled fondly.

“That he is. What do you think of Dutch?” You glanced at him, unsure what exactly he was looking for, so you kept your tone and your answer deliberately neutral.

“He has a lot of very interesting opinions and ideas. I’m curious to see what he comes up with next.” Arthur laughed outright at that.

“Anyone ever tell you that you could be a…” he paused to burp, “politician?”

“Not even once,” you replied with a grin. You studied his face, those blue eyes, his wide pink lips and friendly expression. Arthur scratched his head, got his fingers tangled in his hair and swore, nearly tearing a chunk of his own scalp out in his impatience. “Here, hang on, let me help you,” you told him, and, unthinking, you reached out and stilled his hand, unweaving tangled hair from fingers, coming away with your own fingers sticky and some of Arthur’s hair attached to the palm of your hand. You swiftly picked them off and leaned back onto your own barstool away from him, swallowing when you saw he was staring at you with an odd look that almost looked…longing? But no, it must be a look of irritation at being touched without his permission. “Sorry. I know you value your space.”

“Is that what people think of me, huh?” he said softly, ordering yet another round of whiskey shots, which, unknown to him, would be paid for with the very last of your coin.

“I don’t know, you just seem…standoffish.” _Except for that one time,_ you thought.

“Well, I ain’t,” he said gruffly. “Just…no one approaches me or gives me the time of day.” Arthur glanced over at you, seemed to realize he was being maudlin and gave an unhappy, one-sided smile that looked as fake as you knew it was. His eyes looked deeply sad when they met yours and you swallowed, wanting nothing more than to tug that sticky, pine needle-caked bandana so that you could bring his lips to meet your own, to repeat that hard, rough kiss he’d given you and have him remember it this time, have it mean something.

“You, uh, you oughta take a bath, friend. It’ll make ya feel better, anyhow,” you told him, clearing your throat and straightening your own bandana using the mirror behind the bar.

“You could use one too,” he chuckled, bumping your shoulder with a friendly motion.

“Yeah, well, I’m all outta money, so a splash in the water bucket back at camp will have to do,” you told him, chagrined.

“Ah, really? Well, shit, come up with me, I’ll pay for yours. Least I can do after I drained your coin purse, Y/N.” A streak of almost painful hope shot through you both at his use of your name, and at the offer.

“Really? Well, sure, I guess.”

“Come on, then. We’ll see if we can salvage this _mess,”_ he hissed, thoroughly annoyed even after the drinks. You followed Arthur to the nearby hotel, trying with difficulty not to stare at his hard, pert ass and his wide shoulders in a way that might attract attention from anyone watching.

“I could use a wash, please,” Arthur told the hotel clerk, jutting a finger over his shoulder at you. “Him too, once I’m done.”

“Well, alright, but my washin’ girls ain’t in until twelve, so you’re on your own,” the hotel clerk told you both. Arthur shrugged.

“Need a washin’, ain’t got time to wait. I reckon I can figure out how to work a bar of soap,” he said dryly.

The two of you stepped into the bathing room, him stripping out of his clothing as though he thought nothing of it. It wasn’t the first time he had stripped in front of you. Whenever camp was near a river the men often all bathed at the same time, using the cold water to wake up and motivate themselves to hurry in their ablutions. Still, you were a bit self-conscious. You sat on the waiting bench just inside the door and leaned back comfortably as Arthur stepped down into the tub with a happy sigh, letting the hot water relax him.

“You were right,” he finally admitted a few minutes later, eyes closed. “I feel better already.”

“Too bad about those washing girls, that hair of yours is still a mess.”

“Well, you could put yourself to use rather than just complain about it,” Arthur commented. For a moment, you contemplated whether or not he was joking. “Well, go on, get scrubbin’. The sooner I’m clean, the sooner the bath’s yours,” he drawled with that soft slur that told you he wasn’t quite sober. You approached, shaking a bit and you reached a hand out and placed it on his head, reaching down for a rag and the soap. You scrubbed some soap into his hair gently, working pine needles and leaves out of it, setting them aside on the stool next to the tub.

“You’re a mess,” you told him with a nervous chuckle.

“I’ve had worse things scrubbed offa me,” Arthur shrugged. You brushed your hands through his hair, pushing away tangles and scrubbing with the soap until Arthur’s hair was soft and clean.

“It’s, uh, I’m done. It’s clean,” you told him, stepping away, but he suddenly reached out and grabbed your wrist with a vice-like grip. You looked down, shocked, and met his gaze.

“I remember it. Do you?” he asked you softly. You swallowed hard.

“There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about it,” you admitted truthfully. He let out a sigh of relief, second-guessed himself and released your wrist.

“Sorry, if you aren’t…if you weren’t…” You leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

“I am. And I was. I didn’t know you…were,” you ended awkwardly. Arthur chuffed a small laugh.

“I was raised by two men who don’t think much of laws or society’s rules. I reckon I’ll kiss whoever I want.” You smiled shyly and then squawked when he abruptly yanked you into the tub with him, splashing water everywhere.

“Somebody’s gonna come in here and we’re gonna be hung for fraternizin’ like this,” you told him breathlessly, realizing you were lying on his chest, your legs on each side of his waist. Arthur chuckled, a warm sound that you could feel vibrating through him.

“It’s liable to happen one of these days. Might as well make it for a good reason,” he told you, yanking you up to his face by the shirt collar in a repeat of that moment a month ago, kissing you hard enough to bruise. You were panting, shocked, happy, terrified and very, very wet.

“Ah shit, my clothes,” you realized aloud. Arthur laughed, pushing your vest off and flopping it with a wet “plop” onto the floor.

“They all need a washin’ anyway. Here, let me,” he told you, pushing your shirt off your shoulders as well, his eyes roaming your body, taking in your chest, your shoulders, your stomach, all of you, and looking nothing but appreciative, looking like you were the greatest thing he’d ever laid eyes on. You shoved your soaked jeans off and dumped them out of the tub, now naked against him. You were in no way prepared for this to become anything else, but the slick feel of your skin against his was nice. Arthur turned you so that you were sitting in his lap in the warm, bubble-filled water and this time he returned the favor, washing your hair with gentle fingers. His fingers trailed to your shoulders, massaging the sore muscles there gently. “Been waitin’ for any excuse to get you alone again. Just…couldn’t work up the nerve without enough whiskey in me to make you go broke. I’ll buy us dinner in town tonight,” he offered.

“You sure?”

“What, two fellas out enjoyin’ a fine steak? I know we can’t hold hands in public, but that don’t mean we can’t chat with each other. And…once we’re back in camp…” You laughed.

“You really gonna break Mary Beth’s heart like that?” Arthur snorted. You both knew the aspiring author had a crush on the big outlaw.

“Nah, she deserves better than me, anyway.”

“Hey! What’s that sayin’ about me?!” Arthur put his arm around your neck, pulling you back and kissing you gently on the temple.

“I’m just exactly what you deserve, Y/N, if you’ll have me,” he half-joked, but his eyes were hopeful, earnest. Craning your head around, you kissed him tenderly.

“Of course I will. Now, we better get out of this tub or folks will start to talk about two cowpokes stemmin’ the rose in the hotel bathroom,” you said, but you chuckled fretfully, genuinely concerned about that exact thing.

“Well, I did pay for _two_ baths,” he reminded you. You barked a small, relieved chuckle, feeling like a fool you were laughing so much, but based on Arthur’s expression, he thought it was endearing.

“I reckon I can stay for another bath.”


End file.
